VH0 



THE LIBRARY* 1789 
Classier ll- 





P" q/ fM 



EULOGrY 



LIFE AND CHARACTER 



Rev. ZACHARIAH GREENE, 



A PATRIOT OF THE REVOLUTION, AND LATE SENIOR PASTOR OF THE 
FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, SETAUKET, N. Y. 



DELIVERED AT THE REQUEST OF THE CITIZENS OF HEMPSTEAD, 



FEBRUARY 10th, 185 9 



JOHN ORDRONAUX 



l ' THE RIGHTEOUS SHALL BE HELD IN EVERLASTING REMEMBRANCE." 



NEW YORK : 
BAKER & GODWIN, PRINTERS, 

PRINTING-HOUSE SQUARE, OFI\ CITY HALL. 

1859. 



7?x ^jjs 



Rev. Zachariah Greene died at Hempstead, at the residence of 
his daughter, Mrs. Benjamin F. Thompson, on Monday evening, June 
21st, 1858, aged 9S years 5 months and 10 days. His decease was 
the occasion of very general mourning in the community 1 -; and his 
funeral called together a large assemblage from far and near, to pay 
their last respects to him who had long been considered as an Evan- 
gelical patriarch. He was buried on the succeeding Thursday ; Rev. 
N. C. Locke, D. D. Pastor of the Presbyterian Church, preaching an 
eloquent and appropriate discourse from Genesis v. 24; this text hav- 
ing been selected by Mr. Greene himself. In addition to the solemn 
exercises of the burial-service, the citizen-soldiery of Brooklyn and 
Jamaica paid his remains the honor of a military escort to the grave, 
in grateful remembrance of his services in the Revolutionary War. 
Deeming the life of this venerable patriot and Christian minister deserv- 
ing of a formal and enduring historical tribute, the inhabitants of 
Hempstead requested the delivery of the following Eulogy; which was 
accordingly pronounced in the Presbyterian Church, on Thursday 
evening, February 10th, 1859. 



no 



5 



J 



CORRESPONDENCE. 



Hempstead, Aug. l&th, 1858. 

John Ordronaux, Esq, 

Dear Sir: — The undersigned, inhabitants of the village of Hempstead, 
desirous of honoring and perpetuating the memory of our departed and ven- 
erated friend the Rev. ZAcnARiAii Greene, so distinguished for his services dur- 
ing the American Revolution, and for his long and faithful duties as a minister 
of the Gospel, beg leave to request that you will consent to deliver an Eulogy 
on his life and character in this village, at such time as you may designate, 
within a few months. 

I roping that you may give us an early and favorable answer, 

We remain, very truly and respectfully yours, 



EDWIN WEBB, 
JOHN IT. SEAMAN, 
S. C. SNEDEKER, 
MICHAEL COON, 
EBENEZER KELLUM, 
HENRY LOOPE, 
BENJAMIN RUSIIMORE, 
ROBERT S. SEABURY, 
YALENTINE SMITH, 



WILLIAM L. LAING, 
L. D. RUSHMORE, 
V. D. W. WEEKES, 
SANDS TOWEL, 
JOHN BEDELL, 
JOHN W. SMITH. 
O. WELLS, 
THOMAS WELSH. 



Roslyn, Aug. SI, 1858. 

Gentlemen: — I am deeply sensible of the honor conferred upon me, by your 
kind invitation to deliver an eulogy on the life and character of my venerable 
friend, the late Rev. Zacijariaii Greene. It is certainly a labor of love, not 
less difficult than delightful, to perpetuate his memory in this very appropriate 
manner. For, the example of such a life as his, presents a rarity in human 
charact er w hich justly entitles it to preservation beyond the brief recollection 
of contemporaries. He deserves to live in the knowledge, and in the respect, 
of future generations, as a noble specimen of our Revolutionary ancestiy, and a 
true personification of that apostolic ministry which leaves its mark of grace 
and godliness wherever it moves. 

Believing it to be our duty, as his fellow-citizens, thus to honor the memory 
of one who did so much for the republic — so much for the household of our 
Christian faith — I shall cheerfully accede to your request, and lend my best 
endeavors to the friendly task of weaving the memorials of his life into a fit- 
ting and, I trust, an instructive record. 

T have the honor to be, Gentlemen, 

Yery respectfully, your ob't. serv't. 

JOHN ORDRONAUX. 

To 

Messrs. Edwtn Webb, Wm. L. Latng, \ 
John II. Seaman, and others. \ 




AT THE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, FEBRUARY 10, 1859 



SELECTION FROM THE SCRIPTURES. 

By REV. WILLIAM II. MOORE, 

RECTOR OF ST. GEORGE'S CHURCH, 

PRAYER, 

By REV. N. C. LOCKE, D . D. 

PASTOR OF THE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH. 

HYMN. 

EULOGY. 

By JOHN ORDRON AUX, Esq. 

QMISGNQ PIN. 

By REV. B. PILLS BURY, 

PASTOR OF THE METHODIST CHURCH. 



BENEDICTION. 

By REV. JAMES PRIOR. 



EULOGY 



In rising to perform tlie very grateful, yet difficult task 
with which your invitation has honored me, I confess to being 
overwhelmed by feelings of great self-distrust and hesitation. 
A novel position is always an embarrassing one ; but particu- 
larly so when it invades the territory of a sacred profession. 
I see around me those whose sole and exclusive prerogative it 
is, as Evangelists, to discourse within this temple of Christian 
worship. I see around me those, who, authorized by the ties 
of clerical brotherhood, and armed like the Apostles with 
tongues of flame, are so much better qualified to pronounce 
a panegyric from this sacred desk, that the presence of a lay- 
man in it, even under the indulgent sanctions of this occasion, 
savors strongly of presumption. Confronted by such living 
admonitions of my intrusiveness as these, I am compelled to 
plead guilty, having no other apology to offer than that of 
my great solicitude, and my earnest desire, to unite with you 
in perpetuating the memory of a faithful Minister of Christ. 

But, aside even from these considerations, in themselves 
neither frivolous nor insignificant, there are others of far 
more weight, and far more importance, to oppress me. It is 
so rare a gift to be able to paint human character, with jus- 
tice and truth, to examine its lights and its shadows with a 
2 



10 



EULOGY. 



tender yet scrutinizing eye, and to portray it impartially as a 
whole, by avoiding alike indiscriminate eulogy, and carping, 
unfriendly criticism, — it is so rare a gift to be able to do this, 
and to do it gracefully, that unskilled hands cannot but 
tremble as they take up the pencil, or unroll the canvas of 
eulogistic biography. It were, indeed, well worth the while 
to undertake this friendly office, if one could wield such a 
pen as that with which Palladius immortalized St. John 
Chrysostom, the "golden-mouthed" Bishop of Constantin- 
ople ; or that with which Theodore Beza eulogized his 
beloved Calvin ; or that, again, with which old Izaak Walton 
so sweetly and quaintly rehearses the virtues of a Hooker or 
a Herbert. To these intellects, the task of an eulogy was 
only a grateful recreation, — an easy practice of the great 
gift within. But how small the number of such minds ! 
How priceless their birth-right of genius! and who may 
aspire to emulate their peculiar and transcendent glories ? 
Few, and far between, are they who possess the cunning art 
of limning human character aright. And, although many 
boldly adventure themselves, as apprentices in this field, — 
least among whom I am come to stand, — there is little dan- 
ger that the master's mantle, so often sought for, so seldom 
obtained, will find a just claimant to-day. 

And yet, amid all these misgivings, there comes relief, — 
large, abundant, persistent, — in the soothing reflection that 
nothing I can say, can either add to, or take from the perfec- 
tion of that Christian character whose memory we are here 
assembled to honor. The name and the fame of Zachaeiah 
Greene, both long since secure in " History's golden urn," 
are as familiar in all your mouths as household words ; and 
it is consoling to know that, whatever imperfections may 
creep into my analysis of his life, — that, however much 



EULOGY. 



11 



vision may be distorted, or judgment may be at fault, they 
cannot in the least impair your estimate of his virtues, or 
your reverence for his memory. 

Who of us does not remember that last festive occasion 
on which we were gathered around him ? Who does not call 
to mind that last annual feast of commemoration, when, with 
heart beating to heart, with eye kindling to eye, with feeling 
responsive to feeling, we met around that venerable man to 
mingle our congratulations, upon the ninety-eighth annivers- 
ary of his birth. From far and near, kindred, friends, and 
neighbors had come to join in prayer, and praise, and thanks- 
giving, over that great Heavenly mercy which had lengthened 
out his life to such an unwonted age. We saw him then in 
all the strength and the flower of a beautiful old age. We 
saw him towering, like a rock in mid-ocean, against whose 
front the winds and waves of time had beat in vain ; and 
when we separated, it was amid mutual promises, and hopes, 
and gladsome anticipations, all looking to a future meeting. 
But, alas for human hopes and human assurances! That 
festive re-union was destined never to occur again in time. 
The shadow, which no mortal eye can see, was already upon 
the dial-plate of life ; and it was foreordained that the aged 
pilgrim should soon find rest on the thither shore of Jordan. 
A few short months, — a few waning moons, — a summer's 
harvest— a fall of dry leaves in the forest, — and how changed 
is all ! How changed the place ; how changed the motive, 
how changed the spirit of our assemblage ! Where before 
was mirth, there is mourning. Where before was gladness, 
there is gloom. Where before was life, there is death, dark- 
ness, desolation. And now, instead of weaving laurel wreaths 
for living brows, we can only bring branches of palm and 
cypress and myrtle to deck the fresh turf on his grave. 



12 



EULOGY. 



Let us speak his name here with reverence. Let us unfold 
the tale of his life, and the elements of his character, " with 
mute thanks and secret ecstasy." Thanks, first of all, to our 
Heavenly Father, that He permitted such a life to be ; and 
secret ecstasy in our own hearts, that He has vouchsafed us 
the same privileges of grace, and godliness, and salvation, 
as unto that dear servant of His, now gone to his well-earned 
beatitude above. 

Carefully and tenderly I shall now draw the veil from 
before the memory of the departed. Carefully and tenderly 
1 shall approach that character which I know was human, 
finite, imperfect, like unto the most miserable of us all, — but, 
for the grace of God! We come not to sit in arrogant 
judgment upon him, with balance and weight and trenchant 
sword. We come not to weigh his character, — so many 
ounces of guilt against so many pounds of grace ; for that 
is the single prerogative of Deity. Bat we are here, my 
friends, to review that character in its outward personality ; 
to paint it as it was seen, and known, and admired and 
respected and reverenced among men ; as it was felt in its 
influence, honored in its excellence, and blest in its works 
and in its ways. To do this in a brotherly, a neighborly, and 
a Christianly spirit, is the duty to whose discharge I shall 
now address myself. 

And here, on the threshold of my remarks, I must observe 
that the life of our departed friend presents itself to us under 
a triple aspect. He was by profession a soldier in the stormy 
days of the Revolution ; by profession a Minister of the 
Gospel, — a soldier of the Cross, always militant for Christ 
and the Church ; and lastly he was a patriotic citizen, loving 
his country with all the affection of a wide, warm heart. It 
will best comport, therefore, with chronological order, as well 



EULOGY. 



13 



as with perspicuity of arrangement, to examine his life in 
the three separate phases presented to us by its Revolutionary, 
its Ministerial, and its Social character. 

Rev. Zachariah Greene, son of Samuel and Jane Greene-, 
and grandson of Robert and Jane White,* first settlers of 
Stafford, Conn., was born in that town on the 11th day of 
January, 1760. On the paternal side he was descended from 
William Greene, f one of the early settlers of Woburn, Mass., 
and one of the original subscribers to the " Town Orders" 
agreed upon at Charlestown. From some disconnected inci- 
dents furnished by himself, which, unfortunately however, are 
not always accompanied by dates, it seems that his parents 
removed at some period of his boyhood, first to Brookfield, 



* Robert White, an Englishman, was one of the twelve individuals who 
settled Stafford, Tolland County, Conn., in 1719. He was twice married. By 
his second wife, who was Jane Hunter, he had Joseph, Robert, Joseph 2d, 
Samuel, Mary Ann, Ebenezer, William, Jane, and Hugh. Samuel married 
Hannah Loomis ; Mary Ann married Robert Thompson ; Joseph 2d married 
Mary Colton (and had Mary, who married Cot. Stephen Moultbn); William 

married — Mars; James married , and had a son Abner, who 

left two daughters; Jane, born April 6, 1*731, married Samuel Greene, March 
14, 17 50, and died as below stated. 

f William Greene came from Devonshire, England, to Boston, in 1663, and 
took the freemen's oath at Charlestown the following year. He was twice mar- 
ried, and appears to have finally settled in Woburn, where his eldest son Jacob 
was born, October 14, 1691. Jacob married Elizabeth Cranch, Jan. 16, 1722, and 
died Dec. 16, 1790, leaving five sons and three daughters. The eldest son, 
Samuel, was born at Sunbury, Mass., March 1st, 1723, and married Jane 
(daughter of Robert and Jane White), March 14, 1750. Their children were — 
Jonathan, Ann, Samuel, Joseph, Lucina, Zachariah, Deborah, Mary, Susannah, 
Jane, Sabrina, and John Spencer. 

These genealogies are copied from unpublished MSS. of the late Benjamin 
F. Thompson, Esq. 



14 



EULOGY. 



Mass., thence to Hanover,* 1ST. H., where they died at a very 
advanced age.f 

His early years, like those of most of the New-England 
youth of his day, were spent partly in the discharge of 
laborious duties at home, and partly in the enjoyment of such 
humble instruction as a district school then afforded. Even 
there, his attendance was irregular, being often limited to the 
winter session alone ; while the necessity of accomplishing a 
distance of two miles, in sunshine and in storm, in order to 
reach the school-house, made the road to knowledge, in more 
senses than one, a wearisome path. Thus he lived until his 
seventeenth year, when, in January, 1776, he entered the 
American army at Eoxbury. 

The year 1776 was unquestionably the most memorable 
of all the years through which our Revolutionary struggle 
passed. It witnessed the first turning of the tide of fortune 
in favor of the Colonies, — the first organization of a Con- 
tinental army, — " the first flight of the enemy," at Boston,;): 
— the first unfurling of the Union flag of thirteen stripes, — 
the immortal Declaration of Independence, and the victory 
at Trenton. It was at the opening of this eventful year, so 
full of prophecy, so full of hope, and while none of its tri- 
umphs had as yet been achieved, that young Zachariah 
Greene, a mere boy of sixteen, joined the army under Wash- 
ington. 

* There is a small settlement about two miles east of Dartmouth College, 
in the valley of Mink Brook, which still bears the name of Greene' 'sboro, in 
attestation of its founders. 

f Samuel Greene, ob. August 21st, 1801, set. 84. Jane Greene, ob. May 13, 
1813, set. 82. 

I Hostibus jyrimo fugatis. Legend inscribed on the medal presented by the 
Continental Congress to General Washington, in commemoration of the evacu- 
ation of Boston by the British, March 1Y, 1776. 



EULOGY. 



15 



And here, let us ask ourselves, as we stand in the midst 
of all the blessings, whether spiritual, whether temporal, 
which flow out of a Free Government, a Free Press, and an 
Independent Church, — as we tread this soil which we call 
our own, over which we claim a Heaven-born right of 
eminent domain, — this soil which we have purchased by no 
personal sacrifice of blood or treasure ; by no anguish for 
the safety of our firesides and the beloved ones left there 
unprotected ; by no grim apprehensions of halters, prison- 
ships, or dungeons ; by no patient toil under a summer's 
sun, or under the icy fang of wintry winds ; by no weary 
marches through morasses or over mountain tops ; by no 
trials either of flood or of field, of flesh or of spirit, — let us 
ask ourselves in the presence of all these records of our 
national history, and of our national life, whether we can 
over-estimate, whether we can even sufficiently appreciate 
the great moral courage, the greater spirit of self-sacrifice, 
and the truly Spartan heroism, which must have actuated 
those brave youths who, while yet in mere boyhood, dared to 
confront victorious veterans, — dared to brave the fortunes of 
uncertain war, — and dared too, to brave the ignominious fate 
of outlawed rebels. 

I know it is generally said that military life has a peculiar 
charm for youth; that the "pomp and circumstance" of 
bannered hosts and of mustering squadrons, the din of war, 
and the romance of tented fields, take captive their hearts. 
But if this be true, it is at best only partially true ; and for 
the honor of human nature, — in justice to its dignity, let us 
acknowledge that it can, and that it does resjDond to higher 
emotions than those sensational ones which feed the lusts of 
the eye, or minister to the appetites of the flesh. The brave 
young men who, in the early days of our colonial life, went 



16 



EULOGY. 



forth to battle with savages, and to die in the lonely wilder- 
ness beneath the arrows of a treacherous and an invisible foe, 
were surely actuated by little of the pomp and circumstance 
of modern warfare. They left their sunny homes, their 
pleasant valleys, their smiling farms, wives, parents, kindred, 
all, to battle with a cruel, relentless enemy, to perish in single, 
desultory warfare afar from the haunts of men, and to die in 
the deep sounding aisles of the forest, " unknelled, uncoffined, 
and unblest." And similarly was it with the young men of 
the Revolution. There was nothing alluring to eye or to ear 
with them. There was nothing addressing itself to the love 
of pomp or the ostentation of parade. The Continental 
government could at first furnish the troops with only a bare 
subsistence. It had no arsenals, no ammunition, no artillery, 
no small arms. Each colony provided for its own troops as 
it best could, the soldiers generally furnishing their own arms. 
Under such disheartening inducements to military life as 
these, what was it that brought the ISTew-England youth into 
the field at Concord and Lexington and Bunker Hill ? What 
was it that brought them into martial array in their home- 
spun suits, with their scanty stock of indifferent ammunition, 
and their old fire-locks, which had seen service at Louisburg 
and Quebec? Was it not the same spirit. which led the 
Greeks to Marathon, and the Swiss to Morgarten ? Was it 
not the same spirit which animated the bosom of a Pym, a 
Hampden, and a Sydney ? In a word, was it not the spirit 
of personal and political independence ? Brave young hearts ! 
With life in hand they went forth cheerfully to battle and to 
death. Like Pompey, when on the eve of his de])arture for 
Egypt he was met by a remonstrance from the oracle, they, 
too, felt that they must go, although they should die ; " Be- 
cause it was necessary that they should go; because it was 



EULOGY. 



17 



not necessary that they should live." What nobler spectacle 
can earth present than that of men thus proclaiming, in their 
lives and through their deeds, that, next to their God, they 
loved their country ! 

Of such men was the army composed which Mr. Greene 
joined at Boxbury. At that time, Washington was besieging 
Boston. Situate upon a narrow peninsula, which forms the 
center of a number of necks of land, the city was easily com- 
manded from the surrounding heights ; and as the colonies 
had no navy, and a large British fleet lay in the harbor, the 
operations of the American army were exclusively effected 
by land. Our lines extended from Winter Hill, in Cam- 
bridge, on the west, in a southerly direction, through Box- 
bury, to Dorchester, on the east. For eight months the city 
had thus been invested, when Washington finally determined 
to fortify Dorchester Heights, and thus completely command 
the enemy's position. This was the first active service in 
which young Greene was engaged. The troops, two thousand 
in number, marched from Boxbury on Sunday evening, 
March 3d, 1776, under the command of General Thomas. 
Accompanying them was a train of three hundred carts, 
carrying intrenching tools, fascines, and bundles of hay. The 
hay was scattered on the road, in order to break the noise of 
the carts ; and so effectually was this done, and so , efficiently 
did the troops labor that, by the morrow's dawn, not only 
were two forts completely raised and guns mounted, but the 
enemy, meanwhile, knew nothing of it. When it was dis- 
covered, great was the astonishment of General Howe ; and 
he is said to have exclaimed almost despairingly, " I know 
not what I shall do. The rebels have done more in one night 
than my whole army would have done in a month." It was 

indeed a moment of great peril with the British. They were 
3 



18 



EULOGY. 



surrounded on all sides but one, and from that, even, security 
was fast fleeing. Admiral Shuldham notified Howe that his 
fleet would be destroyed as soon as the Americans should 
mount their heavy guns and mortars upon the heights. It 
was resolved, therefore, as a last alternative, to dislodge the 
Americans from their position. Two thousand troops under 
Earl Percy were sent down to Castle William for this pur- 
pose. But a furious storm, together with a counter-movement 
on the part of Washington, put an effectual bar to these 
operations. The British contented themselves with a terrific 
cannonade of Nook's Hill and Dorchester Neck (at which 
latter place Mr. Greene was posted), throughout the night of 
the 9th of March ; the whole circuit of American bat- 
teries replying to them with a concentric and disastrous fire. 
This was the last engagement which occurred in that vicinity ; 
and precisely one week after, the British fleet, freighted with 
officials, troops, and loyalists, sailed out of the harbor, leaving 
the city in the hands of the Americans. 

After the evacuation of Boston, Mr. Greene marched with 
a detachment of the army to New London, whence they took 
shipping for New York ; arriving there in the latter part of 
April. In July occurred the most memorable of all the 
events of the Revolution, — an event which gave birth to our 
National Independence, and which first proclaimed us to be 
a confederacy of states, and a sovereign power among the 
nations of the earth. That event, — that new era, was the 
promulgation of the great Declaration of Independence. 
The news of this long-expected event reached New York on 
the 9th of July, and Washington caused it to be read the 
same evening at the head of each brigade. No incident in 
Mr. Greene's life, long and varied as it was, appears to have 
left so lasting an impression upon his mind as this. It was a 



EULOGY. 



19 



favorite theme of discourse with him, — an episode whose 
remembrance stirred the very fountains of his emotional 
nature ; and he never recounted it without becoming excited, 
enthusiastic, and eloquent. Battles and engagements in 
which he had been a participant and a sufferer, he could 
calmly recount. Marches in summer heats, or over frozen 
fields, he would describe with a cheerful, unregretting spirit. 
Ask him about Dorchester, or Throck's Point, White Plains, 
or White Marsh, and he would tell them over with the pride 
of a veteran soldier, and with the facility of an unimpaired 
memory. But once speak to him about the Declaration of 
Independence, — once ask him about the manner in which it 
was received by the people of the colonies, and by the army 
of which he was a member, — and you would touch a chord 
in his heart, beneath whose vibrations the aged man would 
quiver with conflicting emotions. 

" And scenes, long past, of joy and pain 
Came wildering o'er his aged brain, 
And lighted up his faded eye 
With all a patriot's ecstasy." 

■At such times, he would rise from his chair, and with 
kindling eye, erected form, and impressive voice, describe 
how his brigade, which was encamped in the open fields 
lying north of Canal Street and west of Broadway, marched 
down, with colors flying, to the Battery ; how they rounded 
the Bowling Green, where stood the leaden statue of George 
III., which the people on that same night tore from its 
pedestal, dragged through the streets with a rope about its 
neck, and then most appropriately consigned to the bullet- 
moulds ; — how the troops marched up to the Park, and there, 
forming in a hollow square beneath the shadow of the old 



20 



EULOGY. 



Brick church, with Washington in the center and the reader 
facing him, the Unanimous Charter of our Liberties was read. 
Then would he describe how all drank in with increasing 
pride and gratitude, those words of manly protest and dig- 
nified defiance ; and how the closing paragraph was followed 
by the shout of " United, we stand ; divided, we fall ! We 
must, we shall be free ! " And, as if overborne by the vio- 
lence of those same feelings which eighty years before had so 
convulsed him, he would strike his staff to the ground, 
exclaiming with heartfelt earnestness, " Take care of the 
Union! Take care of the Union! Do no harm to the 
Union ! " 

In the early part of October, 1776, the British under Gen- 
eral Howe, with a view to dislodging the American forces from 
Harlem Heights, on which they were intrenched, made an 
unsuccessful attempt to possess themselves of Throck's Neck. 
They were baffled in this by Washington, who had seized 
upon and fortified the causeways to Throck's and Pell's 
Necks ; thus cutting off every avenue of approach to King's 
Bridge, and leaving the enemy upon an island. Mr. Greene 
was of the number of those who took part in this affair, but 
at what particular point is not known. 

The next battle in which Mr. Greene was present was 
that of White Plains, which was fought on the 28th day 
of October, 1776. This engagement was one of unusual 
severity, and taxed all the strategical powers of Washington. 
The British forces were full thirteen thousand strong, and 
commanded by such officers as Generals Howe, Clinton, De 
Heister, and Erskine. Twice were the enemy repulsed in the 
open field, and twice did victory seem about to perch upon our 
standards, until a furious charge of the English cavalry, by 
dispersing the American militia on the extreme right, turned 



EULOGY. 



21 



the fortunes of the day. ; Slowly, and in good order, the 
Americans retreated to their intrenchments, where they 
rested undisturbed until the night of the 31st, when they 
withdrew and encamped upon the heights of Northcastle. 
•From this time, and for a whole year, Mr. Greene was 
variously engaged with the army, though not present in 
any serious engagement. He accompanied a detachment of 
troops which marched along the banks of the Hudson for the 
purpose of preventing the landing of General Clinton, who 
was on his way up the river to join General Burgoyne. This 
march was a most fatiguing one. The weather was exceed- 
ingly stormy — the troops ill clad and worse fed, and from the 
nature of the service performed by them, no rest could be 
allowed. Mr. Greene describes it as the most harrassing 
duty of his military life, and says that so pressed were they 
on the march, as frequently to eat their meat raw, from lack 
of time and means to dress it. 

In October, 1777, occurred the battle of Germantown, 
which, although not, properly speaking, a defeat, yet re- 
quired that Washington should remove from his position into 
one of more security. With this object in view, as well as 
that of obtaining suitable winter quarters for the army, he 
removed to the range of hills about three-fourths of a mile 
northeast from the village of Whitemarsh. Here, with the 
exception of some slight skirmishes, the army remained 
unmolested until Sunday, the 8th day of December, when a 
general attack was made upon the American lines. The 
battle was quite severe, and principally directed upon our 
left flank. The British advance was met in gallant style by 
Colonel Morgan and his rifle corps, and Colonel Gist of the 
Maryland militia, whose bravery decided the fate of the clay. 



22 



EULOGY. 



Tlie slioeless Americans,* under Generals Washington and 
Greene, fought bravely and decisively, — 

" The old Continentals, 
In their ragged regimentals, 

Faltered not ;" 

and the enemy was driven ingloriously from the field. In 
this battle, the last in which he was engaged, Mr. Greene was 
seriously wounded. A musket 7 ball entered the left shoulder, 
first injuring the collar-bone, thence passing through and 
splitting the shoulder-blade. Of the incidents of that day, so 
memorable to him, I can give no better description than is 
contained in his own words, and from them I shall now 
quote : — 

" I was on the right flank of the advance-guard ; my 



* The subjoined extracts from a letter, written by Washington on the 23d 
day of December, 11 7 6, to the President of the Continental Congress, describe, 
in language which needs no comment, the bitter sufferings undergone by our 
army at this time: — 

"Since the month of July, we have had no assistance from the Quarter- 
master General; and to want of assistance from this department, the Commis- 
sary General charges great part of his deficiency. As a proof of the little 
benefit received from a clothier-general, and as a further proof of the inability 
of an army, under the circumstances of this, to perform the common duties of 
soldiers (besides a number of men confined to hospitals for want of shoes, and 
others in farmers' houses on the same account), we have, by a field-return this 
day made, no less than 2,898 men now in camp unfit for duty, because they are 
barefoot and otherwise naked. * * * Notwithstanding which, and that 
since the 4th inst. our numbers fit for duty, from the hardships and exposures 
they have undergone, particularly on account of blankets (numbers having been 
obliged, and still are, to sit up all night by fires, instead of taking comfortable 
rest in a natural and common way), have decreased near 2,000 men." 



EULOGY. 



23 



brother was on the left flank, and we were both wounded. 
His was a bad flesh-wound, below the shoulder. I was 
wounded in my left shoulder, the shoulder-blade was frac- 
tured, and the collar-bone injured. My wound was dressed 
in one of General Washington's rooms ; and then myself and 
others left the house to make room for others, and took up 
our lodging in a horse-shed, without a blanket or an overcoat, 
and lay on buckwheat straw, rather a coarse and damp sub- 
stitute for feathers. The night was sleepless, the cold dis- 
tressing, and it is difficult to describe the anguish J endured 
from my shattered bones ; hut it was all for American 
freedom. The next morning, General Greene procured 
rooms for me and my brother, and my wounds and his were 
dressed by the young ladies of the family. Three weeks 
after this, I sent for a surgeon of a British regiment, on 
parole, who removed the dead flesh, and sawed the sharp 
points and shattered parts of the shoulder-blade. After this 
the wound began to heal, yet it was over ten months before it 
got well. I was never able to bear arms afterwards." 

Thus disabled, and unfitted for active service in the army, 
Mr. Greene returned to the peaceful pursuits of the farm. 
For two years he had devoted his time, his talents, and his 
life to the service of his country. He had passed through 
many trying scenes unscathed — had learned many lessons of 
experience and wisdom — and when at last he was smitten 
down with a grievous wound, was fortunate in having already 
secured a fame at once spotless and undying. To no period 
of his life did he so constantly recur, as to that of his Revo- 
lutionary service. He spoke of it with a manly pride, a 
glowing enthusiasm, an ever-living joy. You could broach 
no subject out of his profession, more delightful to him than 
this. He would dilate upon all the details of military 



24 



EULOGY. 



experience, the little incidents of life in tlie camp, or on the 
march, or on the battle-field, with wonderful fluency. Con- 
sidering that he was burthen ed with the memory of great 
deeds he had performed, and great events he had witnessed, 
he was never tedious in their recital, because he spoke only 
from out the fullness of his heart, what he saw and what he 
felt ; because he did not speak for effect simply, nor for self- 
glorification. And in these accounts of personal service, he 
would rarely individualize himself, giving credit and honor 
to all his fellow-soldiers, by speaking in the plural number. 
He never spoke of the Father of his country without calling 
him the Great Washington ; and he never missed the oppor- 
tunity, when in the presence of young men, of reminding 
them what it had cost their fathers to establish a free govern- 
ment. Often have I been transported by the strong, unpre- 
meditated tide of eloquence which fell from his venerable 
lips, as he told the undying tale of our Revolutionary 
struggle. Often have we all seen him imparting lessons of 
patriotism and morality to a group of admiring listeners, 
even as some aged Athenian soldier, spared from the field of 
Marathon, may have harangued the young men of his day. 
It was an unfailing source of happiness to him to dwell upon 
these topics, and he never declined an invitation to discourse 
concerning them. And when he had poured out the fullness 
and the fervor of his heart in this way, and had infused into 
every one a share of the old spirit of '76, he would dismiss 
you with some epigrammatic sentiment which would ring in 
your ears for days afterwards. He was as happy a personifi- 
cation of the old Continental soldier as our generation has, " 
perhaj^s, ever seen. Upright, self-willed yet humble, fearless 
and independent, yet submissive at all times to laws both 
human and divine, he would have made a noble soldier in 



EULOGY. 



25 



any army. Without the austerity of manner, or asceticism 
of sentiment, he yet had all the religious fervor, all the pious 
zeal, of a Puritan leader in the days of the English common- 
wealth, and like him would have sacrificed life and property 
in securing that political freedom which he considered an 
essential part of his religion. 

In January, 1780, then being in his twentieth year, Mr. 
Greene began fitting for college. In his diary he states, that 
when he commenced the study of Latin he " walked sixteen 
miles on snow-shoes to get one little Latin book." His pre- 
paratory course was completed at Moor's Charity School,* 
and he entered Dartmouth College in 1782. In the succeed- 
ing winter there was a very general awakening on the subject 
of religion, in the parish .about the College. Under the 
ministerial labors of Rev. Silvanus Ripley, there was a great 
outpouring of the Divine Spirit — a gathering-in of many souls 
into the blessed communion of the church. ~No less than 
fifty persons were admitted into the holy fellowship of Christ ; 
and among these was our departed friend. From that day 
forward, he was a valiant soldier of the Crossf-— an active, 



* Moor's Indian Chanty School, named from Joshua Moor of Mansfield, 
Conn., who donated a house and two acres of land for the purpose in Lebanon, 
Conn., was designed by its founder, Dr. Eleazer Wheelock, as a seminary for 
the gratuitous education of Indian Missionaries. When Dr. Wheelock founded 
Dartmouth College, at Hanover, N". H., in 1709, Moor's School was removed 
thither, where it has always continued as a preparatory department to the 
College. 

f At the time he united with the College Church, he says, " I resolved, if 
the Lord should preserve my life and health, to preach the Gospel. I fully 
believed in the total depravity of the human heart ; in the necessity of regene- 
ration — of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ — of repentance toward God ; and in 
the final perseverance of the saints ; that in our flesh dwelleth no good thing — 
and Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to every one that believeth." 
4 



26 



EULOGY. 



zealous member of the Church militant — a servant of the 
Lord of Hosts, and a bright, particular star in the Christian 
firmament. But his health failing him in the second year of 
his collegiate course, he was constrained to abandon all 
regular studies and to leave Hanover.* He went to Coven- 
try, Conn., at first ; where he studied during the summer 
under the private tuition of Rev. Dr. Huntington. Thence 
he went to Hanover, N". J. ; where he remained during the 
winter of 1784—5, in the family of Rev. Dr. Green, father of 
the late Rev. Ashbel Green, President of the College of New 
Jersey. At both of these places he was engaged in fitting 
himself for the ministry ; and so rapidly did he progress in 
these duties of self-qualification, that on the 1st of January, 
1785, he was licensed to preach by the Presbytery of Morris 
county, J. 

His labors in the ministry began immediately. During 
the two months of January and February he was sent, in the 
arduous character of a missionary, into the township of 
Deerpark, Orange county, N. Y. The country was new — 
the population sparse, and the means of instruction, whether 
spiritual whether secular, were exceedingly limited. Al- 
though there were representatives of almost every denomina- 
tion among the settlers, there was yet no regularly organized 
church ; and the first duty to which the young missionary 
addressed himself, was that of collecting the stray lambs into 
one common fold. Of the experiences of this, his first labor 



* Mr. Greene was never graduated at Dartmouth College. In 1800, that 
institution conferred an honorary Baccalaureate upon him, and so enrolled him 
in her Triennial Catalogue. This year (1858), with great consideration, she 
has taken his name from among the Alibi and placed it among the Alumni, an 
honor which he would have highly appreciated. 



EULOGY. 



27 



in the cause of Christ, he furnishes a graphic account in the 
following brief words : — 

" There were only two frame houses in the place ; all the 
others were built of logs. I preached three times every 
Sabbath, visited two days in the week from log-house to log- 
house, and preached each evening of those days in one of 
these log-houses. Generally, the people were poor, some- 
times they had no meat, sometimes no bread. A good 
proportion of them were very pious, and discovered a 
Christian temper and character. Yery often I had no bed, 
and would wrap my cloak about me and lie down on straw. 
In no period of my public labors have I ever enjoyed myself 
better than among those pious, poor people." 

The fruit of these labors was the gathering together of 
some twenty persons, and the organization of a Presbyte- 
rian Church, which has since become a large and nourishing 
Parish. 

The whole of the year 1785, was spent by him in itinerant 
preaching. In January, 1786, he began his travels, at Eliza- 
bethtown, J., and continued on through Connecticut into 
Massachusetts. It was in the month of May of this year, 
that he first visited Long Island, landing at Oysterponds ; and 
his first sermon was preached at a public-house in that place, 
kept by Mr. Rufus Tuttle. On the succeeding Sabbath, he 
supplied the pulpit at Southold. As most of the labors of 
this period are related by him, in a brief compilation of the 
main incidents of his life, prepared under his direction several 
years ago, I shall quote from it at large, rather than mar the 
force of the narrative by clothing it in my own language : — 

" May, 1786. The next week I had invitations from four 
different congregations ; from Lyme in Connecticut, from 
Bridgehampton, Cutchogue, and West-Hampton. I gave 



28 



EULOGY. 



each of them a Sabbath, and finally selected Bridgehampton 
and Cutchogue, to preach between, that summer. In the 
month of October, I had a call to Cutchogue and to Bridge- 
hampton. At Bridgehampton, one of the elders called, and 
requested me to bring Mrs. Greene there, as they wanted to 
see her. Accordingly I did so. She had been there three 
weeks, when one of the elders came to see me, and said, since 
the people had seen Mrs. Greene, they had concluded to give 
me a call ; for they considered a minister's wife* one half of 
the minister ! I concluded, however, to preach once more at 
Bridgehampton, and give a negative, and to go to Cutchogue; 
and did so. When I accepted the call to Cutchogue, there 
were but three members of that church living. Fourteen 
were added before installation ; and in the following spring, 
eleven more were collected. I was not ordained then, and I 
therefore exchanged with Rev. Joshua Williams, who came 
and admitted them to the church. I was ordained and 
installed the 28th of June, 1787, by the Morris County 
Presbytery. This was a body which did not agree with the 
Presbytery as it now stands. They called themselves Pres- 
byterians, but their government was congregational. I 
continued a member of it, as that was a Congregational 
society where I settled. I was made a corresponding mem- 
ber of, and treated with great kindness by, the Presbytery 
of Suffolk county, until 1797, when 1 was dismissed from 
my " congregation at Cutchogue, by a Council held at Sag 
Harbor ; and was then received as a member of the Suffolk 



* Mr. Greene was twice married, by Rev. Nathan Woodhull — 1st, to Miss 
Fleet, of Huntington, June 28, 1786, by whom he had four children, losing her 
at the end of five years, aged 24 ; 2d, to Miss Abigail Howard, of Newtown, 
September 14, 1193, by whom he had five children. He lived with her over 
fifty-six years, when she died also, in 1849, aged 84. 



EULOGY. 



29 



County Presbytery, on the 9th September, in that year ; and 
having a call from the church at Brookhaven, which was 
accepted, I was then installed in the First Presbyterian 
Church at Setauket, on the 27th September, 1797." 

It would not be possible for me within the compass of 
time allowed to an occasion like this, to give anything ap- 
proaching to a detailed history of his long pastorate at 
Setauket. Nor, if I would, am I possessed of the materials 
with which to do it. A few notes of his, intended rather as 
a remembrancer than a record, are all the data I have of this 
long and patient service in the vineyard of our Lord. And 
from these I shall now draw ; consoling myself, for any 
meagreness of narrative, with the belief that the individual 
knowledge of many of my hearers will enable them to supply 
abundantly this much-regretted hiatus. 

Mr. Greene's active connection with the Church at Setau- 
ket, lasted some fifty -two years. In 1849, by the death of 
his wife, he found himself compelled to break up housekeep- 
ing ; and his advanced age (eighty-nine) making itself felt 
as a bar to any increase in his usefulness, he informed his 
trustees that he must seek a new home. Accordingly, in 
October of that year, he came to reside with his daughter, in 
Hempstead. He was still, however, retained as senior pastor 
of the church at Setauket, up to the time of his death, — a 
period of sixty-one years in all. 

In the notes * above alluded to, there are to be found 
gratifying evidences that his ministry was blest with frequent 
and peculiar manifestations of divine grace. There are 
significant proofs that the seed sowed by him did not 



* The particular seasons of revival noticed by him are those of 1809, when 
26 persons were admitted to church membership — 1826 and 1842 — number of 
converts not given, and 1843, when 18 were admitted. 



30 



EULOGY. 



fall in entirely stony places, and that his teachings pro- 
duced new convictions of duty in many, who were thus led 
to embrace and make public profession of that faith which, 
in its completeness and its integrity, was once delivered 
to the saints. These seasons of revival and rejoicing he 
delights in mentioning. They form episodes of encourage- 
ment to him in the midst of his arduous labors. They are 
golden threads in the web of his life. They are as beatific 
visions of a smiling Providence working by means, and those 
means his poor hands. He gathers new strength and new 
hope, with which to labor. He makes nearer approaches to 
godliness in his own person and in his own influence. He 
heals dissensions.* He strengthens the bonds of Christian 
fellowship. He works in all things and in all ways for the 
glory of Christ, for the advancement and stability of His 
Church, for the dissemination of Gospel truth, and for the 
spiritual enlightenment of mankind. And when, in his 
eighty-third year, he is ready to say with the aged Simeon, 
" Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace," he is 
suddenly visited with new proofs that his ministry is not yet 
unfruitful, by the in-gathering of eighteen souls into the 
covenant of mercy. Thus, up to the very day, almost, of his 
removal from Setauket, was he as a vine clinging to the walls 
of the sanctuary, full laden with the rich fruits of a spiritual 
autumn. 

Nor yet did his pastoral labors end here, for even 
in your midst he was a sympathizing, if not an active co- 

* In the year 1810, there arose a great difficulty in the church at Sag 

Harbor, with regard to settling Rev. Woolworth. After vain efforts to 

restore harmony, Mr. Greene, at the request of his co-presbyters, went there, 
called a meeting of all parties in the church, and in one protracted session, 
lasting from 3 o'clock P.M. till one o'clock next morning, brought about peace 
and re-union. 



EULOGY. 



81 



operator in all enterprises of spiritual regeneration. Having 
been in his younger years one of the founders, I may say, of 
the Suffolk County Bible Society, and its first President, his 
interest in the Bible cause never diminished, but rather 
increased with age, and he was President of the Hempstead 
Society at the time of his decease. He was also a devoted 
friend of Missions, believing in their divine ordination, and 
lending his efforts to their support and increase. The Sabbath 
School was also an object of tender and fatherly regard with 
him at all times. 'Nor was there anything relating to his high 
and holy calling, however important or however trifling it 
might be, in which his sympathies were not keenly enlisted, 
and his talents not willingly proffered. 

In forming an estimate of Mr. Greene's ministerial char- 
acter as revealed through his labors, it will be necessary to 
inquire what were the prominent faculties of his mind. He 
was eminently successful in his vocation, and success in any 
profession depends less upon genius than it does upon in- 
dustry. We infer, therefore, and I believe we do it correctly, 
that he was an industrious man. His long, varied, and labo- 
rious life abundantly proves this. Yet, of the distinctive 
features of his mind, I confess that I am not as well qualified 
to speak as I could wish. After a somewhat extended inquiry 
I cannot ascertain that a single sermon of his is extant ; and 
I have no means of judging what were the characteristics of 
his style — whether it was plain or florid, terse or diffuse, log- 
ical or elliptical. From my own knowledge of him, and the 
information imparted by others, I am inclined to believe that 
he was never distinguished as a writer of sermons, and parti- 
cularly that he never loved polemics, and never essayed his 
pen before the world in the field of controversial theology. 
In this he resembled the Apostles, of whose mental habits 
Eusebius speaks similarly, saying : " Those inspired, and truly 



32 



EULOGY. 



pious men, the Apostles of our Saviour, as they were most 
pure in their life, and adorned with every kind of virtue in 
their minds, but common in their language, relying upon the 
divine and wonderful energy granted them, so they neither 
knew how, nor attempted, to propound the doctrines of their 
Maker with the art and refinement of composition. They 
bestowed but little care upon the study of style ; and this they 
did because they were aided by a greater co-operation than 
that of man."* Nor was his a mind to be much exercised by 
the various doctrinal points upon which theologians so often 
differ. Questions relating to 

"Fixed fate, free-will, fore-knowledge absolute" 

were not likely to disturb, nor to distract his peace of soul ; 
because he would have considered them as referring more to 
the form,, than to the essence of Christian belief; because he 
would have looked upon them as a mantle hung upon the 
statue of Truth, modifying somewhat its external outline, but 
in no wise altering its internal and immutable proportions. 
Yet I do not wish to be understood as meanino; that he had 
no acquaintance with Patristic theology — that he was not 
versed in the writings of Augustine or Cyprian, Tertullian or 
Chrysostom. Nevertheless, I sincerely believe that he was 
better satisfied with positive theology — with that exegesis of 
the Holy Scriptures which is conformable to the general 
opinions of the Fathers and the Councils, without argument. 
For the tone of his mind was not such as to have made him 
enjoy the abstruse speculations, and the more absurd dogmas 
which scholastic philosophy has inwoven into the theology of 
modern Christianity. He would have taken sides neither 
with Thomas Aquinas nor Duns Scotus. He would have 



* Eccles, Hist. Lib. iii, cap. 24. 



EULOGY. 



33 



discarded the cumbrous mysticism of the schoolmen as ex- 
travagant and indefensible. And to the speculations of recent 
eclectics like Kant, he would have accorded about the same 
respect as to the Orphic poems, or the Chaldean oracles. He 
was a child of faith emphatically, and asked nothing for his 
creed beyond the simple promises of Divine Revelation . Hence, 
he never struggled between the service of two masters. Hence, 
he never tarried among the philosophers at Athens, when lie 
should have been among the Fathers at Jerusalem. And 
since speculative evil never tempted him, so did his moral 
sentiments never suffer degradation in the presence of his 
intellect. The peculiarities of his youthful training — the 
rigid discipline of military life — the interruption of the college 
course, and the early contact with the great outer-world, its 
hardships, its temptations, and its tangularities, had given a 
practical turn to his mind which never forsook it. He was 
not one who could ever have brooked a cloistered life — a life 
of seclusion and meditation, and his fruits in the ministry, 
were those due to communial influence over his fellow-men, 
rather than to introspective efforts of his own mind in the 
solution and elucidation of great truths. 

He was possessed of courage and independence in the 
highest degree. The moving spring of action in him was the 
sense of duty ; in discharging which he feared no man ; and 
what was said by Cotton Mather of Rev. Thomas Hooker, 
would well apply to him, viz., that " He was a person who, 
while doing his Master's work, would put a king in his 
pocket." But the overshadowing trait of his spiritual cha- 
racter — that which at all times was most prominent, was 
his great spirit of toleration. He was not a sectarian. He 
loved all men alike, with a true and catholic friendship. As 
his faith over-peered all his moral sentiments, so did his 
5 



34 



EULOGY. 



philanthropy over-peer all his affections. A presbyterian hy 
profession and practice, he never thrust his tenets npon others, 
in invidious comparison with their own. He did not prac- 
tice personal and officious propagandism. Satisfied with the 
measure of light which he had received from on High, and 
ever praying that all might likewise receive it, he yet denied 
salvation to none who believed on the Lord Jesns Christ and 
Him crucified. By whatever denominational name they 
might be known, Christians were everywhere Lis brethren, 
and co-heirs with Christ in the kingdom of Everlasting Life. 
To him Calvinism and Methodism, or Episcopacy, were, like 
the languages spoken on earth, only terrestrial distinctions 
among men, while in the heavenly courts there would be 
spoken but one tongue — there would be heard but one song — 
there would be known but one faith. In Christ he " lived 
and moved and had his being." Christ was his all in all ; 
and of Him he was ever ready to exclaim, in the sublime 
language of St. Ambrose, " Thou art the King of Glory, O 
Christ ! When Thou hadst overcome the sharpness of Death, 
Thou didst open the kingdom of Heaven to all believers." 

Such was the frame of mind in which lie spent his long 
ministry of seventy-two years. From the first moment of his 
conversion, at College, he had taught himself to regard Reli- 
gion as comprising the whole duty of man ; and in obedience 
to this subjective reality, he acted throughout life. There 
never was a man who entertained fewer doubts, or fewer mis- 
givings, concerning his future state. He had planted his 
faith on the Rock of Ages, and there it remained unshaken. 
He had been a zealous soldier of the church militant on earth, 
and he felt that when he had finished his course he would be 
received as a member of the church triumphant above. The 
very text which he selected for his own funeral sermon, 



EULOGY. 



35 



exhibits in a striking manner tlie convictions lie entertained 
of his relations to his Maker : " Enoch walked with God, 
and he was not ; for God took him" Gen. v., 24. Could 
faith be stronger, or belief more boundless? He knew in 
whom he had trusted, and his assurance of salvation was as 
great as though he had stood upon the smoking mount, and 
heard it proclaimed by " the still, small voice " of Deity. 

And now, in conclusion, we come to consider the most 
wonderful aspect under which he appeared to us all, — the 
aspect of his social character. Had Mr. Greene died twenty 
years ago, his life might not have been any the less note- 
worthy in itself ; but I do not believe it would have been as 
interesting to us all. He was not what the world calls a great 
man ; because the world loves secular achievement, loves 
secular renown ; and, apart from his two years of revolution- 
ary service, his name is to be found inscribed in no public 
records, either of science, art, sacred or secular literature. 
But he was a rare instance of that happy equilibrium between 
the physical and the intellectual natures, which gives per- 
fection rather than prominence to human character, and 
which makes a man good rather than great. In quality of 
goodness, he was nearly a perfect man, practicing at all times 
the sublimest of Christian virtues ; for, 

" His life was gentle — and the elements 
So mixed in him, that Nature might stand up, 
And say to all the world, Tliis is a man !" 

If the world denied him the title .of great, it could not, 
however, refuse to regard him as an interesting and an extra- 
ordinary man. He had achieved great things — greater even 
than the wisdom of Aristotle, or Bacon, or Descartes could 
secure. He had achieved a long life, a great triumph over 
time and the myriad influences which war against our mortal 
nature. 



36 



EULOGY. 



The generation which appeared at his birth — in his early 
manhood — aye, even after he had doubled the " grand climac- 
teric," had each passed away ere he put off the armor of life. 
We looked upon him as a monument of divine grace, as both 
a moral and a physical patriarch ; and more than all, we 
looked with silent wonder upon his stalwart frame, which 
ninety -eight years of service had not exhausted. When we 
remembered that he was once feeble and infirm, dragging 
himself through college studies under the wearisome burthen 
of illness, it seemed little else than a miracle, that he should 
have been permitted for so many years to enjoy that perfect 
health, which was in him, emphatically, " a perpetual hymn 
of praise to the Deity." What if he were not a great man in 
himself ; yet was he so to this "generation, from the historical 
associations which clustered around him. We looked up to 
him, as to a venerable oak, beneath whose branches monarchs 
had sat in council, or great scenes been enacted. We looked 
up to him reverentially, as to the " Charter Oak," because to 
him, also, had been confided the safe-keeping of our liberties. 
He was a fragment of the past — a sole survivor among thou- 
sands of those who had acted great parts in the infancy of the 
republic — who had seen the rise and fall of dynasties, the 
birth of great ideas, and the triumphs of man's intellectuality 
in so many ways. For my part, I never could so much as 
look upon him without feeling a glow of patriotic ardor. I 
never could stand in his presence without having my soul 
kindled with historic fervor, as before my mind's eye there 
passed in solemn review, that gorgeous series of human inven- 
tions and human discoveries, and that long procession of kings, 
dynasties, and battle-fields, which had filled so large a portion 
of the world's history since that aged man was born. And 
whenever at parting I took his hand — that hand which had 
shaken Washington's, and which was now like a connecting 



EULOGY. 



37 



link between two great centuries, both fraught with mighty 
events, both full of immortal names — my heart would swell 
with emotion, for I felt as though I stood by the side of one 
who had fought with Caesar in Gaul, or with Seipio in Africa. 

You could not spend an hour, or a day, in his company 
without perceiving the evenness of mind, — the equilibrium of 
temper, and the unruffled cheerfulness with which he ever 
bore himself. At first glance he seemed to have, if I may so 
express it, a perfect rotundity of character. There appeared 
nothing particularly salient or demonstrative in his bearing 
or conversation. His age sat lightly on him, and was " like 
a lusty winter, frosty but kindly." By degrees you would 
perceive that there was a prominent trait in his character 
which overshadowed all others, and through which, as through 
an atmosphere of his own, he saw his fellow-men. That trait 
was benevolence. It was the outpouring of a heart surcharged 
with humanitarian graces. It was the golden fruit of an 
uncontaminatecl and an unperverted moral nature. It was 
the glorification of that spirit of charity and brotherly love, so' 
beautifully inculcated by Christ and the apostles. 

He seemed, indeed, to love all mankind ; and he confided 
in them with a most child-like simplicity of feeling. All the 
little rills of emotion, all the heart-gushings and spontaneous 
uprisings 4P^e affections in him, ran into one great fountain 
of philanthropy. And whenever some pressing object of 
concern to the moral or social well-being of his fellow-men, 
seemed about failing through lukewarmness or neglect, — 
whenever a point in Temperance reformation, or Bible dis- 
semination, or Missions, or social good order, needed to be 
reached, he would throw himself manfully forward — singly 
to battle with obstacles, singly to triumph over opposition. 
And while engaged in this species of Christian warfare, he 
was never known to faint, or grow dispirited, or lose courage ; 



38 



EULOGY. 



but on the contrary, lie would rise in faith, in hope, and in 
energy, until his over-flowing heart would inspire all within 
reach, like a spring-tide river unable to contain its own 
waters, and which pours its fertilizing wealth upon all 
around. 

Time, and long acquaintance with the world, had not 
soured his disposition, nor rendered him distrustful of his 
neighbor. As he never made an enemy in all his life, so had 
he no remembrance of past feuds, or angry bickerings, or sad 
contentions, to embitter his feelings. Unlike most old men, 
he never exhibited any symptoms of a moral or social ossifi- 
cation of heart, nor of a callousness or petrifaction of the 
affections. He seemed instinctively to see only good qualities 
in every one, and could scarcely be made to conceive of a 
moral deformity of character. To him the world was like a 
great picture-gallery, in which everybody appeared smooth, 
plausible, and presentable. He saw men only in their holiday 
attire, and with the unselfish side of their natures uppermost, 
K At ninety-eight, he w T as still a child in worldly experience. 
The dewy freshness of youth, the buoyancy and hilarity of 
boyhood, were still present in his feelings, as though life with 
him was perennial. And the energy of thought with which 
he expressed himself, the quiet, cutting humor ever shining 
through all his sayings, that humor which was truly his 
" ruling passion," strong in life, strong even in death, — these 
manifestations of mental vigor, as you sat within the influence 
of their glow, filled and bewildered you with amazement ; for, 

" Though old, he still retained 
His manly sense, and energy of mind. 
Virtuous and wise he was, but not severe ; 
He still remembered that he once was young. 
His presence checked no decent joy ; 
For he a graceful looseness, when he pleased, put on, 
And laughing could instruct." 



EULOGY. 



39 



Another and an equally prominent trait in liis character, 
was his strong, undying patriotism. Time, age, infirmities, 
could effect no lukewarmness in this sentiment. From the 
day that he shouldered arms at Roxbury, up to the time of 
his death, he was, and always felt himself to he, enlisted for 
active service in the cause of his country. He was not 
ashamed of having been a soldier. He was proud of it. He 
had fought in as noble a cause as did any of the simple- 
minded, God-fearing soldiers of Cromwell, or Gustavus 
Adolphus, or William of Orange ; and he could not forget it. 
He felt that it was no disparagement to the character of a 
Christian, to bear arms in defense of his country ; and he was 
ready to say, as did St. Augustine to the Roman General 
Boniface, " Do not believe that no one bearing arms can lead 
a life well-pleasing to God. The holy David bore arms, to 
whom the Lord gave so strong a testimony ; and so did most 
of the good men of that age. The centurion bore arms. 
* * -K- »p ^] ie game class also belonged Cornelius, to whom 
the angel was sent, and to whom he said, 6 Thy prayers and 
thy alms are come up for a memorial before God.' " 

Mr. Greene's patriotism was, manifestly, not an abstrac- 
tion of the closet. It was not a canting, shallow, pretentious 
doctrine, oscillating between moral and civil ultraisms. He 
looked upon his country and its institutions, as upon a 
scheme of human government approaching nearest to per- 
fection. It was a practical realization of all the best elements 
of civil authority, and of all the eternal principles of truth 
and justice, which had come down to us from antiquity. If 
it was less democratic than Athens, it was also less tyrannical 
and less discordant. If it did not possess the centralizing 
power of Rome, it had, what was far better, its glorious 
municipal liberties— those franchises so dear to the citizen in 
every independent state. These were the principles in whose 



40 



EULOGY. 



support Milton had written his " Defensio Populi," and 
James Otis and Fisher Ames had thundered, when assailing 
the famous Writs of Assistance. And now, that they had 
been incorporated into the National Constitution, and into 
State Constitutions, he could overlook those subordinate and 
inconsequential principles of local government, which are 
incidental to diversities of soil, climate, and education. Nay, 
these very diversities of soil and occupation, far from dis- 
tracting the spirit of unity in our government and people, he 
felt would only preserve it the better, by creating a constant 
necessity for mutual reliance and mutual support — for mutual 
assistance and mutual encouragement — and for mutual for- 
bearance and mutual forgiveness. Hence he was not a theo- 
rizer. He was not a social reformer. He did not belong to 
the Quixotic school of our latter-day illuminati. His patriot- 
ism took the broad, sensible ground of conservatism towards 
all national institutions, towards all the institutions of society. 
He had felt the oppression beneath which the American 
colonies struggled, ere yet they struck a blow for Liberty. 
He had himself assisted in the holy war of the Revolution. 
He had witnessed the birth of the Republic — the formation 
of its constitution, and the slow, almost hesitating adoption of 
it by the various States. He had been a laborer in the work 
of erecting our free government. He had assisted in build- 
ing that great ship of state, which, for eighty years, he saw, 
plowing the ocean of time with increasing majesty and 
splendor. 

11 He knew what master laid its keel, 
What workmen wrought its ribs of steel ; 
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, 
What anvils rang, what hammers beat ; 
In what a forge, and what a heat, 
Were shaped the anchors of its hope." 



.EULOGY. 

t 



41 



He knew, therefore, what all these blessings cost, what 
treasure was paid for them, and by whom.* To him they 
were a priceless inheritance ; and he clnng to them with an 
affectionate ardor which nothing could abate. His letters, 
borrowing their hue from this predominant complexion of his 
mind, were ever interspersed with patriotic admonitions, and 
exhortations to his friends and fellow-citizens. And in 



* In order that some estimate may be formed of the pay which Revolu- 
tionary soldiers realized from the Continental Government, I have introduced 
the following exhibit of the value of Federal currency during different years,— 



CONTINENTAL SCALE OF DEPRECIATION, 

AS ESTABLISHED BY CONGRESS. 



VALUE OF 100 DOLLAES PAPER MONEY IN SPECIE. 



1111. 
Sept. 1 . 

" 15. 
Oct. 2. 

" 20. 
Nov. 1 . 

" 11. 
Dec. 4. 

" 11. 
1118. 
Jan. 4 . 

" 19. 
Feb. 3. 

" 14. 
Mar. 2. 

" 18. 
April 5 . 

" 19. 
May 4. 

" 20. 
June 6 . 

" 19. 
July 2 . 

" 16. 



100 
99 
95 
90 
85 
82 
18 
74 
11 

67 
64 
61 
59 
56 
52 
48 
45 
42 
39 
36 
34 
32 
30 



90THS. 



62 
68 
11 
84 
73 
73 
70 
74 

85 
59 
83 
77 
79 
84 
74 
76 
77 
80 
86 
77 
79 
79 



8ths. 



1778. 
Aug. 7 . 

" 15. 
Sept. 2. 

" 18. 
Oct. 6. 

" 16. 
Nov. 5 . 

" 17. 
Dec. 11. 

" 25. 
1779. 
Jan. 9 . 

" 24. 
Feb. 11. 
Mar. 2 . 
April 3. 
May 10. 
June 21 . 
Aug. 8 . 
Sept. 28 . 
Nov. 22. 

1780. 
Feb. 2 . 
Mar. 18. 



27 
26 
24 
2'1 
20 
19 
17 
16 
14 
13 

12 
11 
10 
9 
8 

7 
6 
5 
4 
3 

2 
2 



6 



42 



EULOGY. 



illustration, I cannot refrain from quoting from one of them, 
written in his 98th year, which, for vigor of style and beauty 
of sentiment, is strikingly remarkable. 

After thanking his friend for certain kindly remem- 
brances, he says : — 

" For these marks of respect and kindness — to my 
fellow-citizens, and to my Father in Heaven, the giver of 
every good and perfect gift — the only reward I can present is, 
the United States, free and independent. They cost me the 
sufferings of a soldier's three years, and the dangers of three 
severe battles. Take care of the Union ! Take care of the 
Union ! Take care of the Union ! Study the Bible. Sup- 
port and listen to the truths of the glorious Gospel of the 
ever-blessed God. My days are nearly numbered. My only 
hope of salvation is in the Lord Jesus Christ." 

And how truly was the whole method of his life arranged 
in conformity to this hope ! How truly did the tenor of his 
daily walk exhibit that peace of spirit, that inward grace of 
godliness, which so abundantly proves that " the glory of a 
good man is the testimony of a good conscience." He had 
staked his happiness on something higher than the likes or 
^ the dislikes of men. While still of the earth, he had put off 
from earliest youth, those common infirmities, ambition, 
covetousness, and pride. Once started on his Pilgrim's Pro 1 
gress, he never relaxed his march toward the Holy City ; but 
went cheerfully on, singing the songs of Zion, and refreshing 
his courage with, — 

" What nothing earthly gives, nor can destroy, 
The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy." 

When his active duties as a clergyman had ceased, he 



EULOGY. 



43 



still served the Lord " in the beauty of holiness," if only by 
standing, and waiting in His courts. He still strove, against 
infirmities, to be present in this holy sanctuary on each 
returning Sabbath. And who is there, of those whose privi- 
lege it was to sit within the beaming light of his countenance 
here, that does not miss him in this seat, which his venerable 
form so often adorned? Who does not miss his sanctifying 
prayer, and his still more sanctifying blessing? Who does 
not miss the Enoch and the Elijah of this congregation, the 
patriarch and the priest, — 

" Our father, friend, example, guide, removed"? 

Of the Sabbath School he was particularly fond. Those 
little lambs, with the horn-books of Scriptural instruction in 
their hands, were objects of great interest in his sight. He 
loved to see them, to instruct them, and to encourage them ; 
and they were ever uppermost in his thoughts when com- 
muning with God. In his last illness, a little girl called 
upon him, and it was delightful to see the transport of joy 
with which this visit affected him. He mentioned it over 
and over again, and dwelt upon it with the tenderest 
emotions of gratitude. It seemed as though that little visitor 
had cast a ray of sunshine far into the dark valley to which 
he was hastening. He never forgot that dear child ; and I 
have no doubt his dying blessing fell upon her. And in 
return, the little children all loved him. They loved, with 
the peculiar discernment of childhood, that great-hearted old 
man, who was never moody, never melancholy, nor misan- 
thropic, but always genial, joyous, and generous-spirited. 
They claimed him as theirs ; they clustered around him, and 
sought for his paternal greeting, and his approving look, — 



44 



EULOGY. 



" E'en children followed with endearing wile, 
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed ; 
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed. 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given ; 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven." 

And where those " serious thoughts " had so often rested, 
thither, also, finally went his spirit. To live is one thing, to 
live well another, and a far nobler one ; yet, neither strength, 
nor virtue, nor piety, nor prayers, can relieve us from the 
inexorable doom of mortality. For " What man is he that 
liveth, and shall not see death? Shall he deliver his soul 
from the hand of the grave ?•" (Ps. lxxxix., 48.) As it came 
to pass with the patriarchs and the prophets, so in turn did it 
come to pass with our friend. After a long, an useful, and a 
holy life — after serving God, and generations of men — after 
laying up treasures in that bright land which he had selected 
for his everlasting home — the great summons at last came to 
him. Not unprepared did it find him ; not slumbering in 
apathy ; not listless from overweening self-confidence ; — but 
active and vigilant, his feet shod with faith, his lamp lit with 
Gospel truth, and his pilgrim's staff of Christian hope in his 
hand. 

Day by day we saw him ripening, like a shock of corn, 
for the harvest. Day by day he grew more wondrous in our 
sight, more instructive to our generation, fuller of spiritual 
effulgence and striking originality. His physical character 
was, if anything, more remarkable than his intellectual cha- 
racter. Blest with a vigorous, well-knit, and sinewy frame, 
time had left but little outward impress on him ; and on the 
threshold of a century, he still walked with head but slightly 
bowed, and step both firm and easy. Temperance, activity ? 



EULOGY. 



45 



and frugality, — early-rising, daily labor, and simplicity of 
living, had preserved him from that self-generated decay 
which hangs descriptive labels upon a majority of mankind. 
As pure in his habits as he was in his spirit, he regulated the 
daily conduct of his body, under the solemn reflection that it 
was the tabernacle of the Holy Ghost. (1 Cor. iii. 16.) He 
did it in youth, in manhood, and in declining years, and 
received for his reward the rich blessing of a cheerful, a 
happy, a golden old age. 

It is a rare thing for men to grow old gracefully. It is 
rare indeed that the sunset of life is bright and cloudless. 
Mankind live so much for the present, so little for the future 
— the future even of this life — that they never think of 
educating themselves for that old age, which, under God's 
good providence may some day dawn upon them. They 
consume their hearts, their bodies, their minds — all their 
higher faculties in fact, in the feverish struggle for present 
gain or present pleasure. They convert themselves into mere 
intellectual manikins, with a brain only taught to calculate, 
and a hand only taught to clutch. With a leanness of heart 
that shines through the thin crust of a gilded exterior, they 
literally dance through life to the music of their own fetters, 
daily mortgaging the peace and comfort of years for one brief 
hour of mad enjoyment. And when old age does come, it is 
full of apprehension, full of remorse, full of bitterness, like a 
cold, rainy day to the homeless and unsheltered, chilling the 
heart and souring the affections. 

But how different the sunset of that pious life, whose 
memory we are here assembled to honor. How full of love, 
peace of heart, and good-will towards men ! How full of 
hope, instruction, and consolation ! What a savor of grace 
has it not left behind ! Delightful is the task of commemo- 



46 



EULOGY. 



rating it. Pleasant indeed it is to bring here a little cotton 
and oil to feed the lamp of remembrance ; to bnrn a little 
friendly incense, and to bestow an humble measure of praise 
upon the memory of one of the founders of the Republic. As 
he had lived, so he died — a righteous man full of godliness — 
a Christian soldier, his feet covered with the dust of an holy 
war. As his whole life had been a constant preparation 
for death, so death found him calmly, trustfully expectant, 
awaiting 

" The meed of Saints, the white robe and the palm." 

Nothing could be more beautiful, in its example and in 
its encouragement to Christians, than was his putting off of 
these clogs of time — of " this muddy vesture of decay." 
Truly apostolic was the end of that pious life, which had 
required nearly a century to complete its Heaven-appointed 
labors. And like the orb of day, and with it also,* how 
gloriously did he pale his light ! how peacefully did lie sink 
to rest ! 

On a summer's eve, as the last rays of the westering sun 
were slowly climbing yonder tall spire, an angel form, 
crowned with amaranth, came and stood at his bed-side. 
His brow, which in the morning had worn a stormy hue 
■ — true type of his early manhood, — now calmed into a smile 
of repose, looked placid and serene. No wave of agitation 
swept through the chambers of his soul. No agony, no 
anguish, revealed itself through form or feature. The battle 
of life had been fought, the victory was achieved, and lie 
waited only for the coming of that charioteer who was to lead 
him to his crown of glory. Already that silent messenger, 



* Mr. Greene died at sunset. 



EULOGY. 



47 



" unbodied, unsouled, unheard, unseen," was hovering beside 
him ; and as the last rhythm of his great heart, like the run- 
ning down of a musical clock, slowly died into an echo, there 
fell a sudden gloom upon all present, for they knew that his 
spirit had passed beneath the shadow of the angel's wing. 

Oh, what a noble epic was his ! What a glorious con- 
summation of the divine purposes of human life ! What a 
Christian euthanasia, to lie down with prophets and martyrs, 
in the royal company of Saints, — in the certain hope of 
eternal life ! Who, with the prospect of such a victory before 
him, would hesitate to don the panoply of Christian knight- 
hood ! Who would not hasten " to lay hold on the horns of 
the altar !" While, therefore, we have time — while yet the 
evil days are afar — let us hasten to become wise. Let us 
strive to be now, what we hope to be in another world. Let 
us strive to live great things, rather than to speak theni* — to 
emulate this good and faithful servant — to earn a heavenly 
crown like his ; so that when the great summons comes, as 
come it will to us, it may find us ready, willing, longing, to 
bow the head, to bend the knee, to clasp the hands, and to 
exclaim with our most heartfelt utterances, — Lord, we are 
thine. Thou gavest us our spirit ; now do we commend it to 
Thy keeping. These are our works, these our fruits, these 
our triumphs. They were ours. They are thine. Take them 
now — take them all — take them forever and ever. Glory in 
the Highest. Amen ! 



*"Non loquimitr magna, sed vivimus." — Cyprian, Be Bono Patientice, 
p. 247. 



RESOLUTIONS OF PUBLIC BODIES. 



The Presbytery of Long Island, at its recent Session in East 
Hampton, adopted the following minute in reference to the late Rev. 
Z. Greene, which they ordered to be published in the Presbyterian 
and the New York Observer, and a copy sent to the family of the 
deceased. 

It having pleased Almighty God to remove, by death, the Rev. Zachariah 
Gkeene, a venerable and beloved father in the ministry of the Presbyterian 
Church, and for seventy-three years a member of this Presbytery, and for 
sixty-one years the Pastor of the Church of Setauket — in the ninety-ninth 
year of his age — Presbytery desire to recognize the solemnity of this Divine 
Providence, and to bear its testimony to the Christian character and many 
excellences of our departed father. 

He was a devoted patriot through the gloomy period of our Revolutionary 
struggle, having been actively engaged in rearing the fortifications at Dor- 
chester Heights ; in the battle of White Plains ; and in several other skirmishes,, 
in one of which he received a severe wound in the shoulder, which was prob- 
ably the cause of changing his course in life. 

Disabled for warfare, he immediately returned to a course of study, which 
he had relinquished at his country's call, and which led him, eventually, to the 
sacred ministry. 

It is a singular coincidence, not unworthy of recognition, that the very spot 
of ground on which Father Greene so long fought with " spiritual weapons," 
was one of the scenes in which he once fought with " carnal weapons." 

In 1777, he was one of the party, under Colonel Parsons, which crossed 
over to Setauket, with the view of capturing a company of British soldiers and 
Tories, who had taken possession of and barricaded the Presbyterian church 
7 



50 RESOLUTIONS. 

in thai place ; the very building in which Father Greene afterwards preached 
the Gospel for thirty-four years. (See Prime's History of Long Island.) 

He was an active, zealous, and warm-hearted Christian ; a wise, skillful, 
and affectionate pastor ; and a faithful presbyter. 

Though long laid aside from active duties, by his great age and growing 
infirmities, yet he continued to exhibit, to the close of life, undiminished 
interest in the church, his brethren, and the cause of the blessed Master ; and 
now that he has entered into his rest, he leaves behind him an honored 
memory, grateful to his many friends, and worthy of the imitation of his 
brethren in the ministry of this Presbytery. 

By order of Presbytery Long Island, 

THOS. McCAULEY, Stated Clerk. 



At the regular Quarterly Meeting of the Hempstead Bible Society, 
held July 12th, 1858, the following resolutions were unanimously 
adopted : — 

"Whereas, it has pleased our Heavenly Father, in His wise providence, to 
remove from our midst, since our last meeting, our reverend and honored 
father in Christ, the Rev. Zachariah Greene, the President of the Society, who 
has presided over our councils since the organization of the same, in 1852; and 
a promoter of the Bible distribution prior to the existence of any Bible society 
on this island ; and whereas, this event has deprived us of a wise counselor, a 
true friend, and an uncompromising champion of Bible Christianity ; there- 
fore, 

Resolved, That though we deeply feel this stroke, we would bow with 
submission to the Divine will, knowing that the Judge of all the earth doeth 
right; and while we remember with gratitude that he has been spared so 
many years to us, we would earnestly pray, that we may be enabled to follow 
him as far as he walked in the steps of our dear Redeemer ; and like him, may 
we finish our course with joy ! 

Resolved, That we offer to his bereaved family, our Christian sympathy. 

Resolved, That the Secretary cause a copy of these resolutions to be fur- 
nished to the family of our deceased President, and cause the same to be 
published in the Village Paper and the Bible Record. 




EULOGY 



LIFE AND CHARACTER 



Rev. ZACHARIAH GREENE, 



A PATRIOT OF THE REVOLUTION, AND LATE SENIOR PASTOR OP THE 
FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, SETAUKET, N. Y. 



DELIVERED AT THE REQUEST OF THE CITIZENS OF HEMPSTEAD, 



FEBRUARY 10 th, 1 859, 



JOHN ORDRONAUX 



THE BT--HTEOUS SHALL BE HELD IN EVERLASTING REMEMBRANCE. 




NEW YORK : 
BAKER & GODWIN, PRINTERS 

PRINTING-HOUSE SQUARE, OPP. CITY HALL. 
1859. 



United States 
Department of State 
Library 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



021 897 963 4 



